My father was in the
German service."
"Your mother was Russian, was she not?" Lewis asked tactlessly, impelled
by he knew not what motive.
"Ah, how did you know?" Mr. Marker smiled in reply, with the slightest
raising of the eyebrows. "I have indeed the blood of many nationalities
in my veins. Would that I were equally familiar with all nations, for I
know less of Russia than I know of Scotland. We in Germany are their
near neighbours, and love them, as you do here, something less than
ourselves."
He talked English with that pleasing sincerity which seems inseparable
from the speech of foreigners, who use a purer and more formal idiom
than ourselves. George looked anxiously towards Lewis, with a question
in his eyes, but finding his companion abstracted, he spoke himself.
"I have just arrived," said the other simply; "but it was from a
different direction. I have been shooting in the hills, getting cool
air into my lungs after the valleys. Why, Mrs. Logan, I have been down
to Rawal Pindi since I saw you last, and have been choked with the sun.
We northerners do not take kindly to glare and dust."
"But you are an old hand here, they tell me. I wish you'd show me the
ropes, you know. I'm very keen, but as ignorant as a babe. What sort
of rifles do they use here? I wish you'd come and look at my
ironmongery." And George plunged into technicalities.
Pages:
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254